A Day’s Worth

image via ISpyNYC

That moment when the sharp rays of the morning sun

Splash onto your face.

A time to let it seep into your exhausted skin,

Wake up the sleepy freckles resting on your cheeks.

 

Every year on your birthday, your mother, looking at you sentimentally,

Almost shedding a single, lone tear,

Recalls the day you were born:

A cold day in January,

she says that you stared directly into her eyes.

All you wanted was to be lying in her arms, snuggling in what seemed natural.

Has anything really changed?

 

That moment when the sky becomes a painting

Filled with swirling clouds, creeping up in front of the sun, dimming the brightness on your freshened face.

The grayness drips back into your complexion,

Revealing the reflection of a lost child.